


Stay

by hapakitsune



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Always a Different Sex, F/M, Pining, Women in the NHL
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-16
Updated: 2014-09-16
Packaged: 2018-02-17 16:33:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2316188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hapakitsune/pseuds/hapakitsune
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first thing Nick notices about the new Columbus goalie is that she has a bow in her hair.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stay

**Author's Note:**

> I've been obsessed with the idea of a female Bobrovsky for a while and instead of working on anything I should be I wrote this over the last two and a half days while battling what I think is a cold. I am a hot mess of a human being. Thanks to professorbutterscotch for glancing over this. <3

The new Blue Jackets goalie is wearing a bow in her hair. Nick can't see her face, because she's turned towards her translator, but he can see the soft blue bow at the end of her braid and the wisps of hair coming loose from the end. He knows the Jackets traded for her around the same time as him, but that's most of what he knows. She's Russian, she's one of a scant handful of women in the NHL, and she's from Philly. He thinks her name is Sofia.

He's played against her, sure, and he seems to remember that she’s pretty good, just maybe a bit unpolished. Someone said that the Flyers found her by accident while a scout was in Russia and saw this exhibition game where the goalie kept making amazing saves. Someone else said she was playing in the women's league and the scout ended up there by accident but thought she was worth a shot. Nick would ask her what the truth is, but he isn’t sure how to phrase it and besides, they’ve got practice to get to.

It's chaotic in the dressing room with people stretching, catching up with buddies, and getting equipment ready. Everyone is at different stages of training after waiting for months to find out if they'd even play the season. Nick has been training, but some of the guys have been playing, including, he discovers from listening in on the conversations around him, the new goalie. 

The full letters of BOBROVSKY across her sweater seem too large for her slim shoulders, even bulked up as she is by her goalie pads. Nick watches her warm up from the other side of the ice, curious to see if she talks to anyone. Mason seems pretty typical for a goalie, quiet as he warmed up but chirping the players taking shots on him. The team is a weird mix, with so many of them new to Columbus; it feels more unsettled than Nick is used to. Jack has been friendly, of course. He and Cam took Nick and a few of the other guys – Dubi, Anisimov – out to the area around Nationwide to shoot the shit and show them around the city. 

Jack seems to genuinely like Columbus. Nick knows Jack had been unhappy in Los Angeles, as much as he tried to hide it, and though Columbus would never have been his first choice, Nick has to admit that so far Columbus has exceeded his expectations. He's withholding judgment on the team until camp is over and the roster has shaken out to what it'll be for the season, but he's tentatively optimistic about the mix. 

The biggest wild card is Bobrovsky, mostly because she seems to barely speak English. Nick hopes she doesn't feel left out. Anisimov, Tyutin, and Nikitin are around too, but none of them bring a translator with them like Bobrovsky. So after she's finished warming up and has settled herself into goal, he skates over to her and says hello.

Through her mask, he sees her blink. "Hello," she replies, voice soft and less accented than he expected.

"I'm Nick," he says. "Looking forward to playing with you."

"Yes," she says, which doesn't tell him dick about whether she understands him or not. He waits a moment, but nothing else seems forthcoming.

"Well," he says, casting about for a way to gracefully exit. "Good luck."

She smiles, and Nick is startled by how much it transforms her solemn face. "Thank you, Nick," she says. 

He lingers for a moment later, then jerks his hand in an awkward wave and returns to center ice. He jostles Wiz playfully, trying to get a grin, and waits for Coach to start them on drills. 

After practice, Jack tries to convince some of the guys to come out again. He isn’t having a lot of success, so Nick pokes Dubi and says, “Yeah, let’s go!” and eventually they get a big group together. Bobrovsky is sequestered in with the goalie coach and her translator, hair loose from its braid now and falling in damp waves down her back. Nick catches her eye, then glances around for Anisimov or Tyutin. 

“What?” Anisimov asks when Nick calls his name. 

“Does Bob want to come?” he asks, shortening her name without thinking about it. Anisimov’s mouth twitches a little. “I’d ask her, but –”

“She understands mostly okay,” Anisimov says. “Sometimes not so well, but I ask her.”

Nick feels kind of like an ass, but he’s still glad that Anisimov is the one to go over to her. Bobrovsky looks surprised, eyes cutting over towards Nick – he waves at her – and then she nods. She gets to her feet, says something to Anisimov, and turns towards her stall. Her hair falls almost to her hips. Nick has never seen a female NHL player with hair that long before. Kiprusoff always kept her hair pretty short; same with Ericsson and Chu and Wickenheiser. 

Jack picks the place, a bar and grill establishment that takes their huge party size with good grace. The waitress looks a little like she might laugh or possibly cry, so Nick slips her a couple of twenties and apologizes in advance for taking up four tables and probably being a pain. She smiles nervously and thanks him before going to get them all water. 

Bobrovsky didn’t bring her translator along, so she sits next to Tyutin, who has Anisimov and Nikitin sitting on his other side. She’s smiling at people, though, and when Jack tells her she was good in practice, she bobs her head and thanks him. Her hair is braided again, bow in place at the end, and she’s wearing a Blue Jackets long-sleeved shirt, like most of them. Nick realizes, belatedly, that he’s staring, and turns to start a conversation with someone else, anyone else. 

Nick ends up standing next to her outside after they’ve paid and tipped the waitress a lot. She’s shivering, arms wrapped around herself. She at least has a knit hat and a sweater, but she seems to have forgotten that it’s still January. Nick taps her on the shoulder and shrugs off his coat, a holdover from the winters in Ottawa. She shakes her head, but Nick just looks at her until she smiles and takes the coat from him. 

“Thank you, Nick,” she says. 

Nick smiles back. “Can’t have you freezing to death,” he says. “We need you.”

“Goalie is important,” she agrees. Her nose is red from the cold. “Best important.”

Nick laughs in surprise at the sly note to her voice. She grins wider. 

Dubi chooses that moment to pull up to the curb, honking his horn for them to get in. Bobrovsky wears Nick’s coat all the way back to Nationwide, her slim hands tucked into the sleeves. She returns it to him before she gets in her car, a practical four-door Lexus in blue, and she waves goodbye as she pulls out of her space. Nick holds his coat and stands there for longer than he really should, and then shakes his head to snap himself out of it. 

 

The season starts sooner than any of them really want. Their first game is away in Nashville, not too far away but two days later they’re back at home and two days after that they’re in Phoenix and the day after that they’re in Denver. It’s exhausting, too fast, and Nick had known it would be like this but he hadn’t realized how _tired_ he would be from the time changes and the altitude changes and the compressed schedule. 

Bobrovsky starts the first two games, where she does well, and the game in Denver, where she lets in four goals while the Avs’ goalie gets a shutout. She’s even quieter than usual after the game. Tyutin mentions in passing that back in Russia, she and the Avs’ goalie used to be compared all the time, with her always coming out the worse. Nick watches her slowly braiding her hair, her gaze fixed on something he can’t see, and he decides that’s bullshit. 

“Hey,” he tells her as they’re walking out towards the bus. “Don’t worry about today. We couldn’t get you a goal and that’s on us.”

“I play bad,” she says. 

“So did we,” he says. He stops her and holds out his arms. “Hug it out?”

She eyes him, then carefully folds herself into his chest. She’s about the same height as him, which he always forgets because she’s so slim. He pats her back, tweaks the end of her braid, and lets her go. She gives him a small smile and heads up the steps into the bus. 

Dubi clears his throat from behind him. Nick glances at him, determined not to be embarrassed. 

“Nice that you guys are friends,” is all Dubi says. 

Nick isn’t sure how to explain it, and he isn’t sure Dubi is asking, anyway. He likes Bobrovsky. She’s quiet and so focused, but he’s seen hints of playfulness underneath that he’s sure he can bring out. He thinks, as good as she is and as much as she has been improving under the tutelage of their goalie coach, she could be even better if she was more comfortable in Columbus. He likes the ribbon she always wears in her hair and the fact that she still brings a translator to the rink with her so she doesn’t miss anything. She’s dedicated, and he can tell she is taking the loss personally. And he knows they probably have a lot more of them coming. 

He doesn’t realize then how right he is about that last part until they get to the end of February, look up for during their two day break, and realize they’ve lost fifteen of their first twenty games. Bobrovsky’s been in net for three of their five wins, and some games she and Mason are the only reason it doesn’t become a blowout, but they’re all dragging their feet and hanging their heads. They’re playing into what people expect of the Blue Jackets and it fucking sucks. Nick is furious at himself for not being able to do more and at the team, and the night after they lose, again, to Chicago, he comes home and sits on his bed in silence for a long moment, sending a silent wish to the universe for just a crumb of luck. 

And then the Colorado Avalanche come to town, Bobrovsky versus her Russian rival again, and – they win. In overtime, sure, but Nick assists on the tying goal and Anisimov gets the goal in OT. As they leave the ice, they all give Bob slaps on the shoulder or head taps, some swatting her on the ass affectionately. Nick is last in line, and he gives her a huge hug, yelling her name. Through her mask, he can see that she’s laughing delightedly, so, so happy. 

They’re all giddy that night at the bar Dubi decides they should go to, and they give a toast to Bob for only allowing one goal. She’s grinning and joking that it was easy when the shots were so bad. It’s nice to go home light-hearted for once. 

The next game starts out shitty; Mason lets in three goals on eight shots, and thirty seconds into the second period Bob is in net. And she proceeds to not let in a single shot, not for the rest of regulation while Jack evens the score, not through overtime, and not in the shootout. Nick yells her name louder this time, gives her an even bigger hug, nearly lifting her off her skates, and he can’t believe it, they’ve won _two in a row._ Szabados comes over as the Oilers are leaving the ice and shakes Bob’s hand, speaking to her softly as the home crowd roars its approval, and when she takes off her mask, Bob is smiling so widely it looks like her face hurts. 

They win the next one. And then the next one against Detroit, and the rematch a day later. Bob is in goal for all of them and she’s transcendent, as good as Nick sensed she could be. Even when they drop the next two games in shootouts, she hardly lets in a shot, steady and calm in her crease like an anchor. No one says it, but they all know that Mason is done as a starter. It’s all Bob now. 

She seems pleased by the success, but she shies away from reporters still and seems to prefer staying quietly in the background. She’s named first star of the month on NHL.com, and she barely even seems to realize what a big deal it is, just ducking her head and saying, “Oh,” when they tell her. 

“It’s a good thing,” Nick tells her later on the bus. “It means people are noticing how good you’re playing. I hear there’s even some Vezina talk for you.”

“I don’t play for award,” Bob says. 

“We know,” he says. “You play for us.” 

She smiles shyly. “Yes,” she says. “I play for team.”

 

They miss the playoffs by a hair and it almost feels worse than if they had missed by a mile because they were so close and they’re all mad that they couldn’t get there for Bob, at the very least. She does get nominated for the Vezina, though. Nick is there when they find out, all of them eating lunch when Dubi’s phone buzzes and he calls, “Bob! Guess what!”

“What,” she says. 

“You’re nominated for the Vezina!” The whole table cheers and Bob puts on a good face, but as soon as the topic changes, her smile vanishes. Nick, who has been watching her with a frown since Dubi announced the news, frowns. 

“You okay?” he asks her quietly. 

“Yes,” she says shortly, stabbing at her lunch. 

They’re supposed to be at Jack’s for a barbecue that night, and Nick and Bob are going in Dubi’s car. Bob gets a call halfway there, though, and she has him pull over so she can step outside. She’s pacing outside for a long, long time, and eventually Nick hops out too. She’s speaking in Russian, fast and unhappy sounding, and eventually she starts saying, “Nyet, _nyet_ ,” over and over again until she yanks the phone from her ear and makes as though to throw it. 

Nick catches her hand, careful not to squeeze, and says, “Hey, no, you’ll regret that.”

She yanks her hand from his and glares at him. Without saying a word, she turns back to get in Dubi’s car, shoving herself as far from Nick as she can get. Nick bites the inside of his lip and takes his seat again, keeping to his own side. Dubi waits until they’re all strapped in, glances at Cam who’s sitting in the passenger seat, and then starts the car again. 

Jack gives them shit for being late, which Dubi brushes off casually with a bullshit explanation. Bob gets herself a beer and disappears out back. Nick considers following her, but is distracted by Jack asking him about his brother. The next time he sees Bob, she’s talking with Nikitin and Tyutin, looking less on edge than before. He relaxes a bit and turns back to argue with Jack about how long you should cook a burger.

When dinner is ready, though, Bob is nowhere to be found. Nick volunteers to look for her, and Tyutin says he thinks she went upstairs. Nick wanders around the hall until he finds her in what he thinks is one of the guest bedrooms, sitting on the bed in the dark. He turns the lights on, and she starts, looking up and then sighing when she see it’s him. 

“Sorry,” he says, coming over toward her. “I guess you’re getting tired of me.”

“No,” she says. “Not yet.”

“Okay,” he says. “Is it okay if I sit here?”

Bob nods, and he sits down beside her, leaving space between them. She doesn’t say anything, just continues to gaze out the window. Nick lets her be, but eventually his stomach starts to growl and he says, “Bob –”

“Sofia,” she says. “Call me Sofia.”

Nick draws up short, startled. He gets his mind around the name – _Sofia_ – and says, “Okay, Sofia. I just came up to tell you dinner is ready.”

“Oh.” She rubs at her face. “I come down later.”

“Are you okay?” he asks her. “That phone call earlier –”

“Nothing,” she says. “It’s okay.”

“Is it?” She doesn’t answer. “Sofia –”

“In Russia,” she says, not looking at him. “I had fiancé.”

Nick blinks in surprise and forgets everything else he had been about to say. She looks very tired all of a sudden, her face long and her mouth turned down. He wants to reach out to her, but what does he say to that? He senses that she’s trusting him in this moment, so he stays silent as she stares out the window and twists her bare hands together in her lap. 

“Handsome man,” she says finally. “Older. He had money. I play with men because he pay owner. Women league only other place and no women team in Novokuznetsk. So, I play. Flyers see me, don’t draft me. I think, okay, I stay in Russia. Not so bad. I have a few year, then marry him and stop playing. 

“One day we play in Moscow for tournament. I play good.” Here, she smiles a little. “But I hurt my leg.” She pats her thigh. “So I sit in stands and there is man saying he is scout for the Flyers. He speak Russian and tell me I am too good for team. He give me a card.” She reaches down for her purse and pulls out her wallet. From behind her credit card, she produces a battered business card and hands it to Nick. It’s been ripped apart and carefully taped back together, and since then it’s become worn and cracked at the edges.

 _Ben Hoodikoff_ it says. _Philadelphia Flyers, Scout_. Nick rubs his thumbs over the letters, imagines Sofia doing the same on the plane from Moscow, and is suddenly very grateful to this Ben Hoodikoff, who he’ll likely never be able to thank himself for being at that game at that time. He hands it back to her and watches as she carefully replaces it. 

“I take card home,” Sofia says. “I show my fiancé. I am happy, yes? So happy. I can play in NHL, if I want. We move here, we are wealthy and can help our family.

“He rips card.” Her mouth twists, and she looks back down at her hands. “He says I never go, that we stay in Russia and I be happy with Metallurg. So I pick up piece, I tape, and I leave. Sell ring and call a friend who works as agent and tell him I pay him to make me deal with Flyers. Two days later I am on plane to US.”

Sofia seems exhausted by speaking English for so long, slumping as though all the energy has gone out of her. Nick gets the feeling there’s more she can’t or won’t tell him, but he’s grateful that she trusts him enough for this, at least. He doesn’t want to touch her, not without asking first, so he taps the mattress between them until she looks at him. He holds out his arm as a question, and she moves in to rest her head on his shoulder. 

“He call to ask me to marry again,” Sofia says. “I say no, I always say no. He think like everyone in Russia. Women need to marry. Women need to be pretty.” She’s getting worked up now, sitting up from his shoulder and gesturing angrily. He’s never seen her mad before, not like this, her eyes bright with anger and her usually quiet voice raising in volume. “Only want to marry me now because I am famous and have money.” She switches to Russian, her English clearly having reached its limit. She catches herself, looks embarrassed, but Nick shakes his head and gestures for her to continue. She gets to her feet and starts pacing, voice getting louder until she’s nearly shouting. 

“Go on,” Nick says when she glances at him. “Shout. Don’t worry about me.”

Sofia clenches her hands into fists and says something that sounds an awful lot like what Anisimov says to Voynov. She goes to the window and yells, hitting the window frame. Eventually she tires herself out and sits down again, just barely touching Nick. She’s breathing hard, but she looks happier.

“Did you love him?” Nick asks eventually. 

“No,” Sofia says, no pause even to think about it. “He was not bad. But no.”

There’s another story in that, one that Nick doesn’t think he deserves to know. He has no idea what it must have been like growing up in the far reaches of Russia as a girl who desperately wanted to play hockey, wanted it bad enough to leave home and family to come to a country where she didn’t even speak the language. He doesn’t know what it’s like to have people tell you that hockey isn’t for you. He grew up in a house with a dad who played in the NHL and a mother who supported all of her kids through sports. Sure, he’s lived with his father’s shadow over him, but that’s nothing. If anything, it just means people expect him to be naturally amazing at hockey and are willing to give him a chance.

“Thank you,” Nick says. “For telling me.” He bumps his shoulder against hers. “What do you say we go eat some of Jack’s undercooked burgers?”

Sofia wrinkles her nose but nods. He offers her a hand up and together they go downstairs to eat, Nick trailing just after her and watching her braid swing back and forth. 

 

Sofia learns a few days later that she’s going to have to come get the award during the final. No time for the NHL Awards this year, which Nick personally thinks is a blessing, so instead they’re asking her to come, accept the award, and maybe talk a little to the panel. Despite the implied news of _you won_ , Sofia goes pale at this and turns to her translator, a Russian-American woman who speaks English with a Midwest accent. 

“She doesn’t want to go alone,” her translator tells the team’s PR head. Nick is only there because they asked him to come in for an end of year article that’s being written and the reporter wanted to ask him about the transition from Ottawa. He knows he shouldn’t speak up, since it isn’t exactly his place, but he finds his mouth opening anyway. 

“I’ll go with her,” he says. 

Sofia laughs, says, “Nick, it’s okay,” but their PR head is nodding. 

“You don’t have plans?”

“It’s no big deal,” Nick says. “I was going to stick around and train here for a bit anyway before I went home.”

“Is Nick okay?” their PR head asks Sofia. She nods and adds something in Russian. Her translator looks somewhat resigned as she says, “I guess I’m going too.”

“We’re your entourage,” Nick tells Sofia, grinning at her. “Every big shot needs one, right?”

Sofia shakes her head, but she’s laughing and looking less anxious than she had a moment before. Nick waves goodbye and heads out to his car before he even thinks to wonder at himself. 

The awards are presented before Game 2 of the final in Chicago, and Sofia, her translator Elena, and Nick head out there the day before to take advantage of the hotel rooms paid for by the NHL. They each get their own room, which is nice, and Nick spreads out his bed like a total hedonist the night before the awards. He’s watching trashy TV when there’s a knock at his door. It’s Sofia, wearing a robe over a nightgown, her long hair loose and her lower lip between her teeth. He lets her in and she perches on the end of the bed until he gestures for her to make herself comfortable. She scoots back so she sitting against the headboard, long legs stretched out in front of her. 

“What’s up?” he asks her, sitting down beside her. 

“Why you say you come?” she asks. “I forget to ask.” 

“Here, you mean?” At her nod, he shrugs. “I figured it’s probably kind of scary getting one of these things, especially after the crazy few years you’ve had in the NHL. And traveling alone sucks.”

“And?”

“And we’re friends,” Nick says, wondering what she’s getting at. “Right?”

Sofia nods. “I think, yes.”

“Yeah,” agrees Nick. He nudges her. “Is something bothering you?”

“Nervous,” she says. “They film when I talk.”

“You’ll be great,” he tells her. “You _are_ great. And Elena and I will be there. If you want I’ll stand behind the camera and make faces at you.”

Sofia smiles. She’s twirling her hair around her finger and looking at the television, which is on a marathon of _Say Yes to the Dress._ For a moment he thinks about kissing her; then he reminds himself that they play together and she trusts him and what she needs is infinitely more important that what he wants. 

“Do you want to watch something else?” he asks, thinking she might not want to watch a show about brides. “I can change the channel if you like.”

“It’s okay,” she says. “I like it.” 

She falls asleep half an hour later, slipping down on the sheets with her head pillowed on his hands. Nick tugs a blanket over her, takes the pillows from the other side, and lies down on the floor to sleep. It isn’t the most comfortable, but he doesn’t mind. 

In the morning, she’s gone and the blanket he had draped over her is now covering him. Nick folds it carefully and tucks it away before heading for a shower, smiling to himself. 

He meets Sofia and Elena in the hotel dining room and suggests they take in the city for the day. Sofia is wearing a white sundress and a soft-looking blue sweater, her hair loose for once. She looks very different from how she does most days in Columbus, and he wonders if this is how she dresses when she’s by herself. Or, he thinks, remembering that the NHL sometimes films what the award recipients do before the show, maybe it’s because she’s expecting to be photographed at some point. 

Nick is careful to keep Elena between them in case it’s the latter. Though women have been in the NHL for years now, there are still writers who love to imply relationships between players just to fill the space on a website. Sofia deserves better than that, especially when she’s here to pick up the Vezina, to be honored for her skill as an athlete. 

The infamous Chicago wind whips at Sofia’s hair as they take pictures in front of the Bean, and she laughs as she tries to keep it from flying in Nick’s face. He gathers her hair in his hand, smiling, and that’s when Elena takes their picture, Nick smiling at her as he holds her hair and Sofia looking up at him with her hand half-raised. 

They get one of the tourists to take a picture of all three of them and send it to the Blue Jackets marketing department so they can tweet it out. It’s a nice picture, all of them smiling and luckily their eyes hidden by sunglasses so no one can tell if they’re blinking. The CBJ twitter sends it out almost instantly with an enthusiastic caption. 

At Sofia’s request, they go to the Smith Museum of Stained Glass Windows – “Long name,” Nick remarks – and spend the afternoon there, trailing through the darkened halls. Sofia gazes at each window for a long time, but she stops in particular before an oval window of a soft-featured girl standing before a tree of cherry blossoms. The yellow and orange light turns her features to gold, and he finds himself watching the movement of her eyes more than the glass. 

“It is beautiful,” she says finally. “What is she thinking?”

She doesn’t seem to expect an answer, which is all the better as Nick has none for her. She turns away from the glass and catches Nick’s eye. There’s a moment where he thinks she is going to say something. Instead she pats his arm and moves past him to the next window. 

They return to the hotel to change clothes. Nick has brought a suit with him, and he spends longer than he needs trying to decide if he should wear a tie or not. Eventually he decides to just ask Sofia her opinion and heads out to knock on her door.

Elena answers Sofia’s door, looking elegant in a high-necked black dress and a necklace of pearls. “I am helping her with her hair,” she says by way of explanation. “Are you waiting to go?”

“No, I wanted to know if I should wear a tie or not,” he explains. He tugs at the one around his neck gently. 

Elena eyes him critically. “I think you should, but let’s ask Sofia as well.” She turns towards the open door of the bathroom and says something in Russian. Sofia replies in kind and comes out a moment later in a rustle of fabric. 

Nick feels his mouth drop open. Sofia has always been lovely, but dressed as she is now in a long dress of pale grey, the fabric gathered at her waist, she looks nearly otherworldly. Her eyes seem huge, and her hair is falling down all about her face, and she seems a completely different person from the woman he sees every day at Nationwide. 

“Tie,” she says firmly, then vanishes back inside the bathroom. Elena smiles wryly at Nick and follows her. Nick sits on the bed to wait, still feeling as though he has been clubbed over the head. 

When they reemerge not long later, Sofia’s hair has been twisted up, a blue ribbon tied around her head. She looks beautiful and, he notices, very nervous. He leaps to his feet and offers his arm. She must be wearing heels, because she’s taller than him. 

“Are you ready?” he asks. 

“No,” she says. 

“All right,” he says. “Let’s go.”

The NHL has sent a car to take them to the United Center. Elena sits up front, making light conversation with their driver. Sofia stares out the window the whole way there, her hand tapping out a nervous rhythm on the seat between them. Nick puts his hand over hers for a moment, squeezes her fingers, and then makes to move away. She grabs his hand and laces their fingers together tightly. 

“You’ll be great,” he tells her quietly. “And I promise I’ll be on the other side of the camera, making faces.”

It is, in the end, rather anticlimactic. They wait during the first period of the game, watching from the press box until the last five minutes when they’re escorted to the media gondola. PK Subban is there and he greets them both with broad smiles. Nick shakes his hand, congratulates him on his season, and then shakes hands with Huberdeau, who looks as nervous as Sofia. They make awkward small talk until they each get called to the panel. 

As he promised, Nick stands by the cameraman when Sofia and Elena go to accept the award. She glances at him while she’s being introduced and he sticks out his tongue. She laughs and has to smooth it away quickly as the panelists all look at her. 

She says very little in English other than, “Thank you,” mostly relaying her thanks to the team and her coaches through Elena. To Nick’s surprise, she thanks him specifically for being welcoming, and he feels his face heat when the panelists glance to where he’s standing. 

Sofia has to take pictures with the trophy after she’s finished, but as soon as they say she can go, Nick holds out his arms and yells, “Bobrovsky!” 

She hugs him back tightly, laughing in his ear. He tries not to notice that the bare skin of her back is warm beneath his hands. 

They stay for the rest of the game, cheering indiscriminately for every play. The game, like the previous one, goes to overtime but fortunately the Bruins score less than halfway through the first overtime period and they can return to the hotel before midnight. Nick offers to buy Sofia and Elena a drink each from the hotel bar once they get there. Elena begs off, saying she’s tired, but Sofia smiles and says okay. 

They sit at a table so Sofia can slip off her shoes. Her hair is starting to fall down out of its knot, and Nick leans forward instinctively to tuck a strand back behind her ear. She smiles at him and lifts her drink to clink against his lightly. 

“Thank you,” she says. 

“For what?”

“Coming with me.” She props her chin on her hand. “I like Columbus.” She says the name carefully, as though she’s afraid she might get it wrong. “Better than before. I know I have bad English. Sometimes I can’t say – what I want. You are good.”

“I’m good?” he asks, confused.

Sofia wrinkles her nose, looking frustrated. “Nice? I ask Elena how to say, but forget.”

“I like you,” Nick says. “So I’m nice.”

Sofia shakes her head, but doesn’t elaborate. They finish their drinks in companionable silence before heading upstairs. Nick intends to bid farewell at her door, but Sofia gestures for him to come in. Confused, he does as she asks and stands in the doorway to the bathroom while she unpins her hair, letting it tumble down her back. 

She beckons him closer and says, “Pins?” She shakes her head for emphasis. It takes Nick a moment to realize she’s asking if there are any still in her hair. He carefully combs his fingers through the long locks, finding several pins hiding amongst them, and steps back when he is through. 

“There you go,” he says. “I’d better let you get to sleep.”

He’s about to leave when Sofia calls his name. He turns to see what’s the matter, only to find that she has closed the gap between them. Up close, he can see the black line of make-up around her eyes and the places where her eyebrows aren’t perfectly groomed. She has taken off her shoes, so they’re about the same height. Sofia looks very serious, even as she reaches out to touch his tie. 

“Sofia?” he asks cautiously. 

She shushes him and then kisses him, not light as he might have guessed, but firm and sure instead. Nick is at first too surprised to react. When Sofia starts to move away, though, he reaches up and cups her face in his hands, kissing her soundly. The soft noise she makes in response startles him back, but she shakes her head and reels him back in. 

Her cheeks are flushed when they finally part and her hair is becoming a tousled mess. Nick smiles and rubs his thumb across her cheek before kissing her forehead gently. Sofia hums, sounding pleased, and tucks her head against his shoulder. 

“You are good,” she says, and this time he thinks she gets what she means. 

“I try to be,” he says. He kisses the side of her head and embraces her tightly. 

He helps her from her dress, shielding his eyes, and waits until she is in her nightdress to say goodnight. She kisses the corner of his mouth before he leaves and says, “Good night, Nick.”

Once he hears her door close, he touches his mouth and wonders if he imagined it all. He thinks to the months he has ahead of him and if maybe he can add some Russian lessons to his schedule. He’d like to be able to tell Sofia he thinks she’s good too; that she’s a great goalie and a better person. He’d like for her to not be the only one fumbling for words, for him to be the one apologizing for his shitty Russian. 

One of her long hairs is clinging to his lapel when he removes his suit jacket. He touches it lightly, hangs his jacket in the closet, and lies back on his bed, staring up at the ceiling. He closes his eyes after a moment and imagines her curled up the way she had been the night before, and wonders what she’s dreaming of. If she, too, can sense that the team is on the verge of something great. 

There’s a quiet knock at his door. He gets up to answer it and once again finds Sofia standing on the other side, barefoot and head ducked down shyly. 

“Very quiet,” she says. 

“Yes,” he agrees. “Did you want to sleep in here tonight?”

“Please,” she says, and he lets her in so she can curl up on the bed once more, tucked beneath the sheets this time. He starts to take the pillows from the bed only for her to pat the mattress beside her. He hesitates, then slips in beside her.

“Hey,” he says, turning on his side to face her. “Congratulations.”

She smiles and tries to hide her face. He gently tugs her hands away and tilts her chin back up so he can smile back at her. Sofia squeezes his fingers and then turns onto her back, not letting go of his hand. In the quiet of the room, their breathing slowly falls into sync.


End file.
